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LIBRARY 

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The  BYPATH 


**:  •••       •.  .•::;:: 
••V      .  v  ::•':-. 


— Found  an  intruder  usurping  his 
place  on  the  fallen  log. 


The  BYPATH 

A  City  Pastoral 

By 

Thomas  Grant    Springer 


Illusions  by    Jl.  L.  SCHERZE^ 
Cover  Design  by    WARREN  KErtH 


.        Of  this  little  Book 
three  hundred  copies 
have  been  printed,  of 
which  this  is 


l>* 


Copyrighted  1909  by 
*U.  Q.  Springer, 
Oakland,  Cal 


fUST  off  Life's  road  Love's   sheltered  bypath  lies, 
Soft  lacing  branches  screening  from  surprise 
Those  who  would  stray  there  for  a  season  brief 
To  learn  the  lesson  of  the  bud  and  leaf 
That  drink  the  dew  and  sunlight  from  clear  skies. 

Is  there  a  bloodless  soul  but  sometime  tries 
To  pluck  Love's  blossom,  though  a  thorny  prize, 
And  pausing  on  the  journey  seek  relief 

Just  off  Life's  road? 

Though  sadly   gazing  back  with  tear  dimmed  eyes, 
While  Memory  stirs  the  dead  leaves  with  it's  sighs, 

And  Winter  with  the  greening  plays  the  thief 

We  carry  tenderly  the  barren  sheaf 
We  gathered  with  young  hands  at  Love's  sunrise 

Just  off  Life's  road- 


fS- 


T  peeped  out  on  a  main 
traveled  walk  beside  the 
driveway,  peeped  shyly 
and  seductively,  like  a  pert 
face  half  seen  between 
curtains  that  roguish  hands 
held  tantalizingly.  If  you 
accepted  its  half-implied 
challenge,  it  led  you  off  on 
a  vagrant  way  through  the  closely  woven,  artificial 
wilderness  of  the  public  park  till  it  needed  no 
stretch  of  imagination  to  set  its  goal  as  Arcady ; 
but  you  should  never  follow  it  to  the  end  any 
more  than  you  should  chase  the  rainbow  for  the 
pot  of  gold,  for,  should  you  do  the  latter,  the 
sun  would  laugh  at  you  long  before  you  reached 
the  mystic  goal,  and  if  you  did  the  former,  the 
sons  of  men  would  laugh  at  your  unconciously 
bewildered  expression  when  you  found  yourself 
on  the  main  walk  again.  The  little  path  was 
just  a  five  minute's  excursion  into  God's  own 
country  that  you  could  prolong  indefinitely  if  you 
loitered  and  lolled  on  the  fallen  log,  lying  in  such 
careful  carelessness  just  half  way  of  the  journey. 

Johnny  used  to  prolong  the  journey  till  he 
had  made  a  smooth  spot  on  the  rough  bark  at 
one  end  of  the  log,  but  that  was  after  he  had  done 
the  rainbow  chase  and  two  loud  voiced  shop  girls 


on  a  Sunday  airing  had  exploded  in  giggles  as 
he  emerged  from  the  path.  That  was  his  voyage 
of  discovery  and  though  he  returned  many  times, 
entering  from  either  way,  he  always  dreamed 
journey's  ends  on  the  fallen  log  and  retraced  his 
steps  as  he  had  come.  He  entered  often  and 
dreamed  much,  in  fact,  that  was  Johnny's  great 
fault,  he  dreamed  too  much,  and  the  great,  bustling 
city  that  seemed  so  far  away  from  the  fallen  log 
had  so  few  places  for  dreamers  that  Johnny  never 
found  his.  That  was  why  his  trousers  were  frayed 
at  the  bottom  and  baggy  at  the  knees  and  his 
coat  was  shiny  at  the  elbows  and  a  rusty  green 
across  the  shoulders. 

Often  when  the  city  made  his  head  whirl 
and  the  crowd  elbowed  him  aside  he  fled  from  the 
mad  rush,  walked  to  the  park,  (for  Johnny  had 
no  steady  employment  and  very  little  money)  and 
sat  long  hours  on  the  fallen  log.  A  tiny  rabbit 
seemed  to  recognize  him  as  a  kindred  spirit  and 
slowly  made  friends.  The  scurrying  quail  used  to 
pause  near  him,  while  the  impudent  city  sparrows, 
occasionally  flitting  in  from  the  busy  driveway 
almost  used  to  perch  on  him  and  crowd  him  off 
the  log.  The  linnets  nested  in  the  trees  above  the 
path  and  sang  to  him.  Saucy  jays  tilted  on 
swinging  twigs  to  scold  him.  There  was  more 
sociability  on  the  bypath  than  Johnny  found  on 


life's  highway  and  so  he  grew  to  loiter  there  more 
and  more  between  the  odd  jobs  that  came  his 
way  with  little  seeking. 

Then  one  day  he  found  an  intruder  usurping 
his  place  on  the  log.  The  noon  sunflood,  filtering 
through  the  wind-swayed  canopy  of  green,  touched 
her  big  hat  with  its  shiny  feather  till  it  glistened. 
Her  head  was  bent  and  she  was  tracing  aimless 
little  patterns  in  the  dust  with  the  toe  of  an  ab- 
surdly small,  high-heeled  shoe.  Her  figure  was 
slim  and  lithe,  the  soft  lines  suggested  by  the 
fashionable  cut  of  her  gown.  Johnny  stood  and 
stared  at  her,  astonished  at  such  a  person  in  such 
a  place  and  fascinated  by  the  whiteness  of  her 
slender  hands  clasped  idly  in  her  lap.  Then 
something,  perhaps  the  magnetism  of  his  gaze, 
made  her  lift  her  face.  It  was  small-featured 
and  pale,  the  mouth  vividly  scarlet,  drooping  a 
little  at  the  corners;  a  sweet  young  face  with 
beautiful  big  eyes,  too  big,  and  old  with  a  some- 
thing Johnny  did  not  know.  As  they  met  his  he 
blushed,  awkardly  removed  his  hat  and  stood 
resting  his  weight  on  one  foot.  Then  she  smiled,  a 
smile  that  lighted  up  her  eyes,  though  one  who 
knew  more  than  Johnny  could  have  seen  that  her 
lips  were  used  to  smiling  when  her  eyes  were 
somber.  Johnny  blushed  more  uncomfortably  and 
shifted  his  weight  to  the  other  foot  as  he  twirled 


his  shabby  hat. 

"Were  you  going  to  sit  down,  too?"  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice.  Johnny  gulped  and  eyed  the 
worn  place  on  the  edge  of  the  log  but  did  not 
answer.  "There*  is  plenty  of  room,"  she  went  on 
and  a  vague  invitation  was  in  her  tone.  Johnny 
lifted  his  eyes  to  hers,  caught  the  light  in  them,  then 
sat  down  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  log.  He  did 
not  put  on  his  hat  and  a  little,  vagrant  wind  play- 
fully caught  the  lock  of  hair  that  always  fell  over 
his  eyes  and  lifted  it.  He  shook  it  back,  still  un- 
mindful of  his  hat,  nor  did  the  little  wind  seem  to 
cool  his  hot  face. 

She  turned  from  him  and  began  tracing 
patterns  in  the  dust  again.  He  watched  the  toe* of 
her  shoe  in  shy  fascination  for  a  moment  then 
looked  away  as  she  raised  her  head.  A  look  of 
pain  that  yet  had  something  of  joy  in  it  crossed 
her  face  but  Johnny  was  looking  down  the  path. 
There  his  eyes  encountered  his  little  friend,  the 
rabbit,  peeping  out  of  the  brush,  unconcious  of 
the  intruder  whose  form  Johnny's  hid.  He  forgot 
her  and  began  making  quiet,  friendly  overtures. 
Surprised  at  the  expression  of  his  face  she  leaned 
forward  till  she  saw  the  shy,  furry  creature  creeping 
slowly  to  him,  then  drew  back,  realizing  herself 


an  intruder.  Johnny's  hand  had  just  touched  the 
furry  head  when  bunny  sighted  her  and  the  cottony 
tuft  of  its  tail  disappeared  in  the  brush.  Johnny 
came  back  to  reality  and  glanced  shyly  across  the 
log.  The  big  eyes  were  regarding  him  with  wide 
amazement  and  he  felt  very  uncomfortable. 

"Can  you  make  the  rabbit  come  to  you 
always?"  the  low  voice  asked. 

Johnny  nodded  slowly.  "Yes'm,  almost," 
he  said. 

"But  such  a  shy  creature — " 

"Yes'm,  I — I  guess  they  know  I'm  shy 
myself." 

She  watched  him,  blushing  like  a  girl,  noted 
the  downcast  eyes  and  the  hat  revolving  in  the 
nervous  fingers  and  contrasted  him  with  men  she 
knew,  men  who  hunted  shy  creatures  with  every 
sort  of  weapon,  then  thought  of  the  trust  of  the 
timid,  furry  creature  that  crept  to  him  so  readily. 
A  sigh  rose  from  her  bosom  and  became  a  sob  in 
her  throat  but  Johnny  sat  twirling  his  hat  and  did 
not  look  up.  A  moment  later  she  asked,  "Do  you 
often  come  here?" 

"Yes'm,  almost  every  day  when  I'm  not 
working,  almost  every  day,  lately,"  he  added 
with  apologetic  humor,  then  colored  deeply  at 


his  daring  and  relapsed  into  embarrassed  silence. 

It  had  been  long  since  she  saw  a  man  blush 
so  readily,  in  fact  the  thought  came  to  her  that 
it  had  been  long  since  she  had  seen  a  real  man. 
A  great  desire  to  know  what  such  a  one  was  like 
seized  her.  Slowly  she  drew  him  out  with  a  look, 
a  word  well  timed  and  placed,  till  his  soul  like 
the  rabbit  peeped  shyly  out,  then  crept  closer, 
closer,  until  he  was  telling  her  of  the  city  and  how 
it  forced  him  out  into  the  bypath,  he  whom  the 
hurrying  crowd  on  life's  highroad  shoved  aside. 
He  told  her  the  quaint  dreams  and  fancies  the  tiny 
bit  of  woodland  brought  him,  of  the  bird's  court- 
ship and  home  building  and  how  he  watched  the 
brood  take  their  first  flying  lesson.  He  translated 
the  rancorous  chatter  of  the  shrewish  jay  and 
laughed  at  the  citified  sparrows  that  flitted  for 
a  brief  soujourn  into  the  little  glade  like  town's 
people  rusticating  but  soon  hurried  back  to  the 
driveway.  He  whistled  up  a  few  timid  quail 
that  came  querilously  answering  his  call  to  scurry 
off  when  they  found  he  was  not  alone. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  trees.  It 
flecked  the  top  branches  with  a  brighter  gold  as 
the  shadows  deepened  on  the  path.  At  last  she 
looked  at  her  tiny  watch  and  rose  with  a  startled 
expression. 

"I  did  not  know  it  was  so  late." 


"Only  about  four,"  said  Johnny  glancing  up 
at  the  sur.gilded  tree  tops. 

"Is  that  how  you  tell  the  time?"  she  asked 
following  his  glance  comprehensively. 

"Yes'm,  mostly  now,"  he  replied  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye  that  told  where  his  watch  had 
gone. 

She  held  out  her  hand  impulsively.  "May  I 
intrude  again?"  she  asked  with  a  little  wistful 
smile. 

"Why,  any  one  can  come  here,"  said  Johnny 
a  little  puzzled. 

"Perhaps  that  is  why  so  few  do,"  she  ans- 
wered, her  lips  still  smiling  as  her  eyes  saddened. 
"There  are  so  many  beautiful  little  bypathes  that 
those  on  the  highway  pass  by.  I  am  going  to  turn 
in  to  rest  now  and  then.  Goodby." 

She  pressed  his  hand  and  the  turn  of  the 
path  hid  her,  then  Johnny  sat  down  on  the  log 
again  and  a  new  dream  began  to  form  dimly 
like  the  shadows  that  fall  on  a  hazy  afternoon. 


HEREAFTER  the  by- 
path held  a  new  attraction 
for  Johnny,  the  first  human 
attraction  he  had  known 
since  he  came  to  the  city. 
Almost  every  day  she 
would  come  about  noon 
and  linger  till  the  dipping 

sun    gilded   the   tree   tops, 

then  leave  him,  nor  would  she  allow  him  to  accom- 
pany her  to  the  walk.  They  always  met  and  parted 
in  the  bypath  to  suit  the  humor  of  her  whim.  Johnny 
grew  to  neglect  all  tasks  that  kept  him  after  eleven 
and  found  many  jobs  that  could  be  done  after  four. 
A  fellow  could  always  pick  up  something  on  the 
early  newspaper  wagons.  A  quarter  or  a  half 
could  be  made  at  certain  places  where  rather 
dubious  errands  were  to  be  run,  but  Johnny  was 
not  touched  by  the  tainted  life  he  saw.  His  real 
life,  his  dream  life,  lay  in  the  bypath  where  the 
bright  sunlight  fell  and  the  breath  of  the  wind  was 
pure. 

And  so  it  fell  that  the  rabbit  grew  to  know  her 
and  would  sometimes  permit  her  slender  white 
fingers  to  stroke  the  soft  fur  between  the  lowering 
ears  as  it  looked  up  at  her  with  great  human  eyes 
and  delicate  twitching  nostrils.  She  watched  the 


( 


Then  beautiful  old  age 
crepl  ooer  Summer 


brown  brood  of  the  quail  take  their  first  whirling, 
booming  flight  and  they  learned  to  pick  the  crumbs 
she  scattered  without  hurrying  off  into  the  brush 
at  the  movement  of  her  hand.  The  saucy  jay 
ceased  screaming  and  tried  to  tell  her  woodland 
gossip  which  Johnny  translated  till  she  laughed 
softly  and  the  jay  laughed  too,  knowing  she  under- 
stood. Even  a  striped  garter  snake  that  occasion- 
ally writhed  across  the  path,  stopping  with  beady 
ryes  and  swift  darting  tongue,  ceased  to  frighten 
lior  as  Johnny  tried  a  hypnotic  game  with  it. 

Then  beautiful  old  age  crept  over  summer. 
The  little  path  was  hung  with  cloth  of  gold  as  the 
loaves  took  on  their  fall  shades.  The  morning  air 
was  sharp  and  vigorous  and  the  heavy  dew  stayed 
l,«te  in  the  shadows  but  the  noon  sun-flood  was 
moulten  gold  from  which  the  leaves  stole  their 
color.  Then  one  day,  above  their  heads,  a  leaf 
crumbled  into  brown  parchment  and  fluttered  down 
between  them  with  a  dry  crackle.  She  looked 
at  it  with  frightened  eyes  a  moment,  then  a  mist 
dimmed  them  and  through  the  mist  the  old  look 
of  world-old  sorrow  crept,  for,  in  that  one  dead 
leaf,  she  read  the  fate  of  summer  and  the  grey, 
forewarning  shadow  of  something  else,  for  winter 
was  coming  to  steal  the  dream  of  Arcady.  Her 


soul  had  learned  to  blossom  like  a  pure  wild  flower 
in  the  bypath  but  now  must  be  transplanted  in  the 
sickly  hot  house  of  the  city.  Reality  had  wakened 
from  a  dream. 

Johnny  saw  something  of  this  in  her  face. 
For  the  first  time  he  read  the  sorrow  in  her  eyes 
but  not  its  age  for  Johnny's  soul  was  young  and 
his  heart  and  mind  were  pure.  Day  by  day  he 
watched  her  eyes  with  a  cold,  uncomprehending 
dread  settling  about  his  heart.  The  linnets  de- 
parted and  at  their  going  a  silence  fell  upon  the 
path.  The  rabbit's  fur  was  noticeably  thicker  and 
he  grew  more  loggy  in  his  movements.  The  quail 
grew  bolder  and  scurried  hither  and  thither  in  little 
flocks.  Then  the  cloth  of  gold  turned  russet  and 
the  wind  growing  stronger,  plucked  it  to  pieces  bit 
by  bit  and  flung  it  wantonly  upon  the  path  to  lie 
sodden  under  feet  in  the  heavy  dew  or  to  crackle 
ghostily  as  the  sun  dried  it. 


NE  day  as  they  sat  side  by 
side  on  the  fallen  log — for 
slowly  through  their  days 
together  the  distance  had 
lessened — the  golden  mist 
turned  grey  and  the  boister- 
ous wind  shook  the  shiver- 
ing branches  with  harsh 
laughter  and  as  its  breath 
turned  damp  the  first  raindrop  fell  upon  her  cheek. 
She  blanched  with  terror,  her  eyes,  dark  with  shad- 
ows, widened  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet  shivering 
like  the  naked  trees  the  wind  sported  with. 

"What  is  it?"  Johnny  asked,  springing  quick- 
ly to  her  side. 

"Winter,"  she  whispered  in  an  awed  voice, 
"winter." 

"But  winter  passes,"  he  said  slowly,  "then 
spring  comes — ' 

"Yes,"  she  cried,  "but  it  brings  new  flowers. 
'The  rose  that  once  has  bloomed  forever  dies'. 
You  don't  know  it  like  I  do,  you  are  a  man  and 
many  roses  may  bloom  for  you." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said 
slowly. 

She  stirred  a  dead  leaf  lying  at  her  feet. 
"See,"  she  said,  "the  sun's  kisses  and  the  dew's 


breath  drew  that  from  the  rough  twig  overhead. 
All  summer  long  it  swayed  and  danced  with  the 
soft  wind,  drunk  with  the  sunshine,  nurished  by  the 
pure  dew,  all  summer  long.  Then  when  the  sun 
grew  langourous  and  the  dew  heavy,  it  blushed 
and  blushed  with  joy,  never  realizing  that  its  very 
joy  was  killing  it,  and  then  the  sky  grew  grey,  the 
wind  tore  at  it  till  it  was  exhausted.  In  vain  it 
clung,  holding  to  its  joy,  till  a  fierce  gust  tore  it 
loose  and  now  the  rain  will  beat  it  into  the  sodden 
earth  never  again  to  dance  in  the  glad  summer 
sunshine." 

Something  dawned  in  his  face  and  his  arms 
made  a  little  movement  toward  her  but  she  stepped 
back. 

"The  leaf  has  fallen,  Johnny,  the  sodden 
ground  always  waited  for  it.  The  summer  is  over, 
the  sunshine  done,  I  did  not  know  how  sweet 
they  were." 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Neither  did  I  till  just  now.  The  sunshine 
of  your  presence  brought  out  the  tender  leaves  on 
a  tree  I  thought  was  dead.  It  lived  again  for 
one  golden  summer, — your  summer —  but  winter 
has  come  and  I  know  the  canker  at  the  root.  It 
cannot  leaf  again,  even  for  you,  Johnny." 

She  sobbed  brokenly.     He  caught  her  in  his 


...  For  Winter  had  co 


arms  and  rained  kisses  on  her  face,  kisses  that 
tasted  of  the  bitterness  of  her  tears.  Then  fiercely, 
passionately  her  lips  responded  and  she  tore  herself 
from  his  arms.  It  began  to  rain  steadily  and  the 
wind  sobbed  through  the  trees  as  if  in  answer 
to  her. 

"Goodby,  Johnny,"  she  said,  "the  winter 
will  pass  and  another  summer  come  to  you,  for  you 
have  the  soul  to  wait  for  it — mine  is  the  tree  with 
the  canker  at  the  root  that  cannot  leaf  again."  She 
turned  away.  "No,"  as  he  made  as  if  to  follow 
her,  "we  met,  let  us  part  here  on  the  bypath. 
Goodby.  Johnny  boy." 

The  turn  in  the  path  hid  her,  leaving  Johnny 
standing  in  the  rain.  The  wind  blew  through  the 
worn  places  in  his  shabby  clothes  and  the  sodden 
leaves  oozed  under  his  feet,  for  winter  had  come 
and  a  dream  that  he  but  half  understood  had 
dissolved  into  a  reality  he  understood  still  less. 


H'Cnboi 

I  HEN  smiling  skies  have  turned  to  grey 

And  fallen  leaf  to  sodden  mold, 
The  rose  that  blossomed  yesterday, 
When  smiling  skies  have  turned  to  grey, 
Though  blown  by  windy  winter  may 
The  dying  breath  of  summer  hold, 
When  smiling  skies  have  turned  to  grey 
And  fallen  leaf  to  sodden  mold. 


